The Great Solar Eclipse of 2017 crossed the continent, from Oregon to South Carolina, and gave millions of people the chance to witness one of the most awe-inspiring events in the natural world.

But you had to be within the "path of totality", a narrow band across the earth's surface several thousand miles long but only about 70 miles wide. Outside that band you would only see a partial eclipse, not a total eclipse.

And there is no such thing as a "partial total eclipse", despite the impression blogs and the news media might give. I honestly think that's why so many people misunderstand the utter beauty of the spectacle; they may have seen a partial eclipse in the past that was total somewhere else, and even though they weren't in the path the news kept gushing about it being a total eclipse, so they assume they must have seen a total eclipse and just didn't find it all that impressive.


Posted by Dan 08/29/2017, revised 09/06/2017

Wisconsin is known for having some pretty extreme weather conditions. I remember one summer night without air conditioning, when I tried to sleep snuggling a 7 pound bag of ice. Within 2 hours, there was nothing left but a hot puddle. The Polar Vortex of 2014 ushered in days so cold, you could throw a pot of boiling water into the air and it would instantly turn to snow.

But when I arrived in Madison a few days before the Wisconsin Milkman 70.3 Triathlon, I was greeted by the very best the city has to offer. In the mid 70's, with low humidity, it was the postcard version of the city, flowers blooming, lush green trees and breezy, sunny perfection.

I visited with friends, swam in the lake, biked through the Arboretum, lounged on the Union Terrace, and I realized how much I missed this fantastic town.

When Sunday race morning arrived, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for just being there on this most gorgeous of summer weekends, enjoying the fresh air and uncluttered roads. I felt lucky to participate in this inaugural race. Four years ago it was a dream that the Race Day Events team talked excitedly about, and now here it was, a dream come true. Finally, a 70.3 in Madison!

Race Day Events had assembled an army of volunteer support, and the course was peppered with familiar faces, old friends and former clients.

The race felt more like a celebration than a competition ... but it was still a competition. I was determined to prove (to myself mostly) that I could dig deeper than ever before. The line from Fitzgerald's book (How Bad Do You Want It?) that resonated the most with me was:

"There is no experience quite like that of driving yourself to the point of wanting to give up and then not giving up."

He went on to describe that this experience brings you to a unique place " ... revealing a part of you that is not seen except in moments of crisis. And when your answer is to keep pushing, you come away from the trial with the kind of self-knowledge and self-respect that can't be bought."

In addition to this mission of self-inflicted crisis (and hopefully, eventual triumph), there was also prize money on the line and a solid line-up of elite athletes. I had everything to be excited about.


Posted by Kimberly 07/04/2016

Went to watch Nik in his final road race with the Cal Poly team. Since he'll graduate in the Fall, he'll be able to race the Fall Mountain Bike season but won't be around for next year's Spring RoadRace season.

This one was a criterium--a fast, multi-lap race around a short, flat course on paved city streets. Although hosted by Stanford University, the course was a five-cornered, half-mile loop in Morgan Hill, adjacent to the headquarters of Specialized Bicycle Components (who just happen to be one of the most popular makers of racing bicycles in the world).


Posted by Dan 04/25/2011

21 de junio, Estacion de Biodiversidad, Tiputini

Today, I experienced the arrival of a storm in a freight train of senses.

I sat in a wooden canoe in the middle of a lake in the Amazon rain forest. In the distance, thunder mumbled and tumbled across the dense land. The sky got darker, the air got thicker. The storm made no attempts to sneak up on me, but rather used a range of pathways to indicate its arrival, in a persistent and relentless manner. It urged me to pay attention to it all, to each aspect of its existence.

In a calm, quiet lake I sat. An unmistakable hush started from far off, moving decisively closer, growing and building quickly into a clamor, a rushing train headed straight for me, through the trees and washing over the green land. I knew it was arriving. I heard it arriving. Then I saw it arriving, sliding across the water from the bank, prickling the surface of the lake as it pressed towards me.

Then I felt it. It hit my skin, it pattered off my arms, it moved in lapping waves around me, gentle yet, but sure. Then the wind. It galloped over the treetops, stirring up excited energy, and swept me up in it. It swiped across the thick drops splattered on my skin, sunk into my clothes, soaked into my hair. It blew my energy around, lashing at my previous sense of calm. The tumbling thunder moved closer, grew stronger, and urged my little boat of surrendered appreciation decisively from the center of the lake to the embrace of the bank.

This was not a dramatic flash of monsoonal expression of Power. This was Power built thick and heavy. Arrival was not simply the first step of Departure. Arrival was the arrival of a guest that stayed and settled into the corner of the couch with its feet kicked up. There wasn't a Departure, the storm simply slowly and imperceptibly faded away after time - a heavy mist snaking away to the heavens and leaving a weighty blanket sitting over everything.

It was a magical experience that colored my day... and it was, I believe, the thickest rainstorm I have ever been in.

Amazon photo album: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.864167170098.2372447.19700757&l=fbd26288a4

Posted by Whitney 06/26/2011, revised 06/26/2011